


A Flower Ghost

by VagueSadness



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Forests, Ghost!San, Ghosts, M/M, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23474923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagueSadness/pseuds/VagueSadness
Summary: "The eternity is a quite long thing, Yunho."He doesn’t care,really."It will be not so long with you."
Relationships: Choi San/Jeong Yunho
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	A Flower Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ㅎㅊ도 (HChnD)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HChnD/gifts).



> Inspired by [Jan Amit - Heal](https://youtu.be/ezqBtbXJkdg).
> 
> Thanks to [heecheondo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HChnD/pseuds/heecheondo) for being beta, love you ❤ please read his works!  
> English isn't my native language, I'm sorry for any mistakes you can meet. Also it's my debut on AO3.  
> Yes, I like to use commas and long unreadable sentences. Trust me they were much longer.  
> Have fun.
> 
> Long story short:
> 
> Yunho: your clothes look badly maybe I should bring something to you?  
> San: I don’t feel any cold or shame don't worry  
> Yunho: /brings his own clothes for San/
> 
> Yunho: aren't you feel cold???  
> San: I said you earlier I can't feel-  
> Yunho: here, take this /wraps his sharf around San's neck/
> 
> Yunho: you can get cold!!!  
> San: ... /sighs/

Yunho knows that he's completely alone in this field: who else decides to go outside from the small city and walk so far from home along the edge of the forest? But the strange feeling like someone's watching him doesn't let him go. He glances back. In the distance a huge embankment with strict railway rails rises importantly. He drops his eyes again and continues his search.

"Do you need help?"

Yunho jumps on his place like cartoon characters do and turns around almost colliding nose to nose with a nice short young man who’s looking at him with sincere curiosity. Yunho needs a minute to collect his thoughts and take a breath. He puts his palm on his heart beating in an agony.

"Don't scare people so much," he complains. It seems that the young man doesn't notice his words: he attentively examines Yunho’s face and bites his lower lip.

"Did you lost something? I don't remember you here before."

"And do you often visit this place?" Yunho looks around: what is this guy doing on this godforsaken field?

"Everyday," the young man gives a short nod. "Let me help you. I know these places well."

"Uhm... Well... I just wanna gather a small bouquet for my girlfriend," Yunho admits being shy and rubbing his neck. "But it would be cool if you could help me."

"And you’re looking for it _here_?" he raises his eyebrow and grins. "You're lucky I was nearby. Come on, I'll show you a better place." He takes Yunho's wrist and leads him close to the forest. Yunho is afraid of these dark fir trees reaching to the sky and — is it an aspen? A poplar? He's not good in botanic. He can recognise a fir only because he saw it on the central square every Christmas.

The stranger leads him further and further away from the road and Yunho begins to worry but soon they stop on a small glade near the edge of the forest. The railway is barely visible on the horizon, the boundless blue sky led by the blinding sun spreads out above their heads and the sound of trains doesn't reach them. Here is definitely a whole carpet of small, bright, cheerful wildflowers. Vivid pink, mysterious violet, bloody red, joyful yellow, a lot of green — a little paradise garden. The stranger releases Yunho's hand and squats down looking closely at the plants. They're seeking the biggest blossoms and sheets; the ethereal young man picks flowers carefully and gently, with love and affection, and Yunho tries to do the same — as if flowers are alive and he's afraid of getting them hurt.

"Where are you from?"

"From here."

"What do you mean? Are you from this forest?"

"You might say so."

"What's your name?"

"San."

"I'm Yunho", he tries to smile gently; San notices that and answers by a smile too. He has sweet dimples on his cheeks and such kind shining eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Yunho."

They together collect a very big bouquet which is hard to hold in only one hand; colourful heads reach out to the warm light pushing in all directions and their stems wave friendly in the wind blowing across the field. The forest rustles softly and soothing; Yunho glances at the dark crowns scratching the white clouds. San gets closer, bends down and lightly touches the tiny petals with his fingers. He whispers.

"Did you say something?" Yunho asks.

"Now they'll stand alive longer," instead of the answer. San raises his head up. "Can you find the way back or should I walk you?"

"It's near to the railway, I think I can," Yunho squints against the bright sun and puts his hand to his forehead trying to see the road. "Well... Thanks for your help, San?"

"You're welcome," he shrugs his shoulders. "If you need me you can just call my name."

"Okay," Yunho gives him a nod and confidently heads towards the country road. "Yes, by the way..."

When he turns around three steps later there's no one behind him. Yunho hesitates for a several seconds. He glances at the bouquet in his hand and back at the spot where the young man had been standing. He exhales slowly and turns back in confusion.

He gives this bouquet to his girlfriend and she puts it in a jar with water being glad and happy. Over time Yunho notices that the flowers really stand for an unusually long time: they should have withered long ago but either the girl knows how to handle the plants or the mysterious guy bewitched them. Yunho grins at the thought. He doesn't believe in magic.

San doesn't leave his mind after a week or even a month: he was so mysterious. Later Yunho finds out through his parents and friends that no one lives in that forest — there are no city foresters or ardent nature lovers. Yunho can't handle it: he saddles a faithful rusty horse and under the scorching midday sun rides off to the field again. He drives along the packed sand for several kilometers but soon the road is interrupted, an ordinary city bicycle can't cope with clods of ground and tall grass so the young man continues on foot dragging the useless bike behind him like a small exhausted from a long walk dog. Yunho bites the inside of his cheek and thinks that he is acting rashly: he doesn’t know how far San lives, whether he will hear or come. Maybe he's not home at all and has gone to the city — after all, he and his family need to buy food? Or do they feed on berries and mushrooms?

Yunho reaches the glade where he was collecting flowers with his strange friend. He puts the bicycle on the ground — it turns away in a huff and throws up the wheel as a protest — and shouts San's name loudly. He thinks he will wait for some time — the weather is sunny and warm — and will go back if he still can't meet him when a quiet laugh is heard behind him.

"You don't have to yell like that, I can hear you. You scared all the crows."

Yunho turns around and looks at the young man in amazement. He’s dressed as before: his clothes are ragged and stained with dirt.

"Have you been watching me?" he chuckles nervously. San gives him an awkward smile.

"Well, yes," he tilts his head to the side. "What's the matter? Did something happen or did you come back for the flowers?"

"I—" Yunho gets shy. "No, I just wanted to ... see you? How are you?"

San's eyes widen in surprise and he stares at Yunho's face what makes the latter uncomfortable.

"Me?" he asks incredulously.

"Well ... Yes? What's wrong with that?" Yunho frowns. San lowers his eyes and scratches the back of his head.

"Usually people get scared of me and try not to come back here," he confesses guiltily.

"I agree your sneaking up on me from behind is quite annoying," Yunho laughs. "But there's nothing wrong with you. Isn't it?" he sounds a little anxiously.

"I don't know. I didn't seem to hurt anyone."

"Do you have a bicycle? We can ride together."

"I'm sorry I don't."

"It's okay," Yunho says lightly and carefully sits down on his bike which is piled on one side. "So... How are you? How long have you lived here?"

"Almost two hundred years," San sinks to the ground and crosses his legs. The sun plays in his hair and eyes, strokes his sunken cheeks and sharp cheekbones, glides over his bloodless lips and crawls under the collar of his coarse shirt. Flowers and stems as the softest persian carpet in the world tenderly cuddle his ankles and thighs.

"It must be boring," Yunho smiles accepting his words as a joke.

"Sometimes," San agrees running his hand gently over the blades of grass. "But I like to watch the life around me so it's alright. How is it in the city? The last time I was there it was much smaller," San points to the towering high rise buildings in the distance which now look like small flies circling in the heated air. "And there wasn't houses that tall."

Yunho glances back doubtfully.

"You don't go there at all? Wait, what did you mean there weren't any? They've been around for fifty years or more."

"Seventy two years," San says as if he knows the history of this run-down town which has spread out like a ridiculous blot on the horizon. "And no, I rarely visit it. I have nothing to do there."

Yunho digests the information slowly.

"How old are you, you said?.."

"One hundred and ninety eight," San answers with absolute seriousness in his voice. "That's if you count from the day of death. And if you add my age when I died it's two hundred and nineteen."

Yunho is ready to imitate laughter at any moment but San doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. His jokes are strange.

"I'm twenty-one," he mutters not knowing what else to say.

"It's a beautiful age," San sighs as if with longing and leans his cheek on his hand. Yunho says nothing in confusion but this doesn't bother San: he closes his eyes and enjoys the silence, the whisper of the wind and the barely audible sound of the wheels of trains rushing to nowhere.

"Do you live here alone or with someone?" Yunho resumes the interview; San moves lazily.

"Alone, and with whom else? And I don't live, I am," he corrects.

"Do you have any friends? Parents? Or are you all alone?"

"My parents died very long ago and they’re gone," San replies without a drop of sadness. "Well, there's a friend, not the closest one but we meet sometimes. His name is Yeosang, he's on the south," the young man waves his hand in the direction of the forest. "Yeosang is very handsome and smart. He's an interesting but shy guy and he tries not to get out, however, like me."

Yunho figures out that he’s completely confused.

"Wait," he says and runs his hand over his face to collect thoughts. "So how do you survive here? You don't go to the city and you’re alone here..."

"I don't need anything," San seems to voice the obvious things.

"Do you hunt animals? Eat berries? Are you stocking up for the winter?" he feels like there’s missing something essential from the conversation what makes Yunho seem like a complete idiot to himself. San gives him an unreadable gaze.

"I don't need to hunt anyone," he grumbles. "Why do you ask?"

"I really can't understand. Have mercy, I'm just an ordinary city guy, I don't know the basics of survival in the woods."

"I don't know them too," San smiles.

"But you live in the forest... You need something to eat. You're not starving, are you? I can get you something from home," Yunho is suddenly afraid. What if San had his last meal a few days ago? That would explain his striking slimness bordering on leanness. San laughs and his laugh is soft and lovely, reminiscent of banal comparisons to the sound of a stream — although Yunho has never heard the sound of a stream except in movies. But San's laugh is light, dissolving in the air, and so warm.

"You're so touching," San says with a sunny smile on his lips. "Thank you, Yunho, but I don't need food."

Yunho is silent for a long time looking at him constantly.

"If I didn't see you right now with my own eyes and talk to you I'd think you’re a ghost. You have a very unusual sense of humor," he admits. San raises an eyebrow in surprise.

"But I am a ghost. Did you think I’m a human?"

Yunho starts to get angry: of course, he doesn't pretend to be a genius but he isn't the last fool after all.

"Well, stop it," he reaches forward and tries to push the guy in his shoulder but Yunho’s hand goes through causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground. Following the few laws of physics that he knows he should have touched San but this doesn't happen — only his hand and his leg which passes through San's knee shackles frightening, sepulchral, dead cold for a few seconds. San hastily moves away.

Yunho doesn't know what he’s feeling right now. Fear? Panic? Shock? He stares wide eyed at San who is leaning over him and his face is full of concern.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"B-but ghosts don't exist," Yunho’s voice is vibrating and the grass tickles his neck.

"Here we go," San raises his hands up. "And where am I from?"

"Are you... dead?"

"Well, in my time people couldn't live more than one hundred years. And what, did humanity create the elixir of the eternal life?"

Yunho sits and brushes his shirt slowly. He reaches San's hair with his hand. His fingers go through his blurred features, through his ear and hair, and a painful cold permeates his bones.

"Don't," San winces and moves back; the echo after the touch stays for a moment and fades away. "I don't like that, like you too. And don't even think about putting your finger into my eye!"

Yunho is laughing nervously.

"I never believed in ghosts."

"And I wouldn't want to believe in people."

Yunho’s laugh stops abruptly.

"Wait, so, did you die? And have you been wandering here for almost two hundred years? Why can I see and hear you?"

"Is it the first time you see a gho— oh, yeah, «just an ordinary city guy»," San nods with the irony and Yunho wants to punch him. "You can see and hear me because I materialized partially. I can take my normal form and you’ll stop to see me but you still can feel me — humans receptors aren’t ideal but they can do something."

"So that’s why you always appeared behind me so fast."

"You’re a such perceptive person."

"You behave like my girlfriend," Yunho rolls his eyes but flinches and starts to clap himself on the cheeks. "I’m going crazy: I’m talking with the ghost of the person who is two hundred years old."

"And I’m talking with the twenty one year old guy," San answers and his lips tremble at the hidden smile. "This is amazing. I would ask for an autograph but I don’t want to take away any feathers from crows."

Yunho makes a grimace and San gives up: he laughs in his sleeve and his eyes shine mischievously.

"May I ask why you… died? From what?"

"You may," San shrugs his shoulders.

"... but you will not answer."

"You don't seem like yourself today: one genius thought by one."

"Can I punch you?" he gets annoyed. San starts to whine.

"Don’t, I’m sorry."

Yunho sighs and starts to examine face of the ghost who is sitting in front of him (does a ghost have a face?). Being honest, San is handsome: he has amazing features, sharp but not rough; he’s thin and broad shouldered, he has slim legs and svelte waist, San is so graceful, air and weightless — as if a sunlight froze suddenly and turned into a boy. Yunho thinks briefly he wants to warm him.

"And can you become completely tangible?" he asks. San frowns.

"No. I can be more touchable but not fully. After all I don’t have my own body for a long time already."

"Are you here because you can’t get free?"

"I am free. Well, to some extent. I can’t go on someone else's territory unless absolutely necessary and I can’t leave my home for long time — in this case I’ll fade and disappear forever."

"So is Yeosang a ghost too?"

"Yes, we are the same age."

"All of that sounds deplorably," Yunho notices.

"By no means," San doesn’t look sad. "I like this. I communicate with flowers and the forest, sometimes with animals. I help lost people to find the way out from the wilderness and lead wild animals away. I like to listen to spiders — they’re so talkative and emotional. Worms are like people, they’re lazy and sluggish, the embody of the words «if you can’t run to your purpose you should lie in its direction». Butterflies are bullies but beautiful. Bees are caring and businesslike, they like to grumble, and bumblebees never get enough sleep. Is everything more interesting in the city?" San digresses unexpectedly. Yunho blinks and notices he was watching this — despite the absurdity of the situation — lively and inspired guy all that time. He coughs averting his gaze.

"It must be so? I’m not a big fan of the nature, my limit is the central park but I like to listen to the birds singing at spring. I deal with different people in the uni, with guys from my school, through the internet… Do you know about the internet?"

"I know not everything in the world but — yes I’m aware of the internet. For a change I rarely go outside but not on foot — how to describe that? I do it via trees and flowers," he caress timid petals cuddling to his hip. "I’m watching the life, or walking through the streets, or peeking in houses and offices. I can hear, and see, and feel everything flowers and trees hear, see, and feel. So yes, I know about the internet, about the century of cars and skyscrapers, about some epidemics and I even knew a few people," he smiles. Yunho starts to choke when he realises.

"Did it hurt when we were picking flowers?"

"Flowers were created for giving love so if you do it gently and carefully — no, I don’t get hurt."

"And when people cut down trees? When bouquets wither and die?"

"As long as I'm more materialised and less associated with the nature, it hurts less," San explains kindly. "I can escape from overly strong feelings. And talking about the withering… This is not much different to what you feel when people which are close to you are dying, but it's as if that would happen everyday. I hear their pain, tears, and howls but what can I do except compassionate? This is the cycle of life: rebirth and death, and I am out of it."

Yunho really wants to hug him right now but instead of this he sighs heavy.

"You could see me giving those flowers to my girlfriend? And you can see her apartment, hear her voice?"

"I don't do peeping, don't worry," San grins and Yunho huffs on that. "But yes, I can."

"And can you watch me too?"

"If you have plants in your apartment, yes."

Yunho frowns trying to remember do they have any flowers home. It seems from the time he being child dropped a pot of roses his mom stopped keeping plants in the house. A cold shiver runs down his spine: Yunho suddenly feels incredibly ashamed and guilt about those roses. They were so nice.

"But… you took my hand when we first met," he remembers. "Your skin was so cold. It surprised me."

"I tried to look naturally," San agrees. "Because of that I materialized more than at now."

"And can you?.."

He doesn’t know what to say if San would ask him for what; but San doesn’t ask. He closes his eyes and as if exhales: his chest drops without any sound but Yunho still can see it. The air close to San starts to vibrate like from the fire; grass and flowers crouch to the ground as if under a gust of silent wind. Yunho notices that San’s features are clearier, not so blurry as earlier — before this it looked like you couldn't focus your eyes on him completely because of the bright sun and the contrast.

San reaches his hand and touches carefully Yunho’s wrist by fingers. His touch feels like a drop of melted ice that sticks prickly needles into the delicate and fragile skin. Yunho shivers and San hurries to break the contact but Yunho doesn’t let him do this: he captures his hand and hold it firmly but gently as if he’s afraid of breaking it. Thousands of small needles pierce his palm demanding to let go, leave, throw away, but Yunho endures. Gradually the white noise calms and fades and all what Yunho feels is a heavy hand lying lifeless in his palm with long elegant fingers, faded lines of veins and protruding bones.

"You’re so… frozen," he glides over San’s skin and lifts his clothes a little higher. "But so real."

"And you’re so warm," San whispers watching Yunho’s action. Yunho releases his palm and lifts his hand, softly weaves his fingers into the dark strands — they are a little tangled and wet as if from dew. Or as if from cold soil which is so deep that even the heat of the sun doesn't reach it.

"Do you feel it all?" Yunho timidly passes his fingers along the edge of San’s ear tucking a strand, repeats the curve of the jaw.

"Like an echo, very weakly. Because this isn’t an ideal body-replacement."

"Is it… yours?"

"Mines is rotten for long ago, Yunho," San sounds melancholically. "But the guise — yes. I looked this way when I was alive."

"You was— You are really handsome," Yunho pulls away regretfully. San smiles.

"You just didn’t see Yeosang but thanks. For the first time in two hundred years I hear a compliment in my direction."

Yunho smiles sheepishly: his glare falls on San’s clothes.

"Maybe I should bring you something? Your sweater is completely worn out and pants look not better."

"It doesn't matter. I don’t feel any cold or a shame."

"What size are you?" Yunho examines his waist. "I can buy a new jeans for you. Even ripped ones. They seem to be still in fashion."

"And who should I do a fashion show for? For rotten stumps and indifferent squirrels?" San laughs.

And Yunho doesn’t care: he doesn’t want to believe that this boy isn’t real and he doesn’t get cold on dark windy nights. Other day Yunho brings a soft and loose striped sweater from his belongings and specially purchased for San jeans. Ripped ones, of course. San rolls his eyes but gives up and changes his clothes. Yunho covertly studies him: the young man is well built, though there’s a mountain range of protruding vertebrae, sharp wings of shoulder blades, and curved talons of ribs; his legs are lean and slender, and his waist is inconceivably thin — every wasp will be jealous and will fly to the gym only if it doesn’t die first from this envy.

"Is that better?" Yunho asks when San explores himself with mixed emotions on his face.

"I told you before I barely feel anything," San repeats with a sigh. "I only agreed because one of us didn't play enough with dolls in childhood."

Yunho pushes him in his shoulder without rancor; San pouts and rubs the bruised spot resentfully. Now his apparel looks dried and his skin seems to get a degree warmer — if that’s possible.

Next time Yunho brings a comb and they untangle San’s hair very long time with endless yelling and grumbling from his side. The comb is soiled whether by soot or dirt and nothing helps to clean it; Yunho solemnly hands it over to the startled victim of his impeccable stylist skills and orders San to comb his hair every morning and look at his reflection in the puddle, or swamp, or where he does that. After a couple of days they find out that the camera can't capture the ghost: even if San materializes almost completely the lenses still masterfully ignore his presence and that upsets the hapless model a bit; but on all of the resulting frames a faint glow in the air is noticeable. It reminds Yunho those TV programs about the mystical, otherworldly, and paranormal: maybe all these photos which he thought are fakes were actually true? This thought is frightening.

His girlfriend complains she often can’t get him on the phone: he has communication problems, he's always outside the network. Yunho promises to handle it but does nothing keeping to run away in the forest to his strange friend. He tries to know San’s life story, who he was during his life, but San avoids this topic tactfully; instead of that San forces Yunho to tell about his friends, family and study, what Yunho loves and what he doesn’t. Yunho treats him with chips — San barely feels the taste but he notices that it looks not naturally. In response he leads Yunho deeper into the forest and shows him blueberry thickets: they gather it together — San does it better but he gives all of them to Yunho and smiles to him nicely.

Yunho disappears with him for whole days: his parents are glad that their child doesn’t spend all the time in the computer but sometimes he comes back really lately and they start to worry. And Yunho loves lying on the grass near to San and watching how the sky changes in a few hours, how the clouds float lazily and sluggishly, how the sun sets resolutely, inexorably, and purposefully, how endless long shadows creep across the ground, how the coolness invades the air heated during the day causing sheaves of goosebumps. They can lie motionless in the grass for a long time, bent down to the soil and watch with curiosity how serious and puffed-up beetles run among the stems and flowers and small spiders hurry on business matters. Yunho is afraid a bit of ants but San asks them civilly to not disturb the young man and they do listen to the friendly spirit. Yunho once falls asleep under the scorching rays of the summer sun: the wind caresses his skin and kisses in cheeks stroking his hair and playfully crawling under the clothes tickling with touches. When he wakes up he finds San sitting nearby and intently weaving a wreath of wildflowers which San puts later on Yunho’s head like a small handmade coronet. At his insistent request San conjures the herbs again that they don’t wilt too quickly and Yunho takes the wreath home, hangs it on the headboard, and surprises his mother with his sudden interest in floristry. He persuades her to buy at least one flower home and promises to take better care of it than of himself — she agrees and Yunho keeps his word: thanks to his efforts bright and juicy buds open to the light pouring from the window, reach out to him with their tender leaves and curl. He’s a little ashamed when he thinks that San can watch him now but it’s much more pleasant to feel the warmth softly smouldering from the inside and how the smile falls on his lips when he looks at the plant.

Summer vacation ends and Yunho has to leave home to continue his studies. He delays the unpleasant moment until the last continuing to lie on the ground with San, pressing his temple to San’s shoulder or allowing him to place his head on his stomach. Yunho runs his fingers through San’s (finally) dry hair — San does comb them every day but still didn’t wash — and looks with longing at the already night sky which small stars are scattered on. Rather, the stars themselves are large, probably, very far away, but from here they look like tiny specks of dust shining in the darkness. They flicker and shimmer as if talking with each other in the language of brief flashes and highlights. Sparkling white dots are reflected in San's deep and attentive eyes making his features even more unearthly and magical, charming and mysterious; it’s easy to drown in his dark — but not cold! — pupils and it’s what Yunho does every time he meets his gaze.

"I have to leave the day after tomorrow," he says in a barely audible voice. San turns his head pressing his cheek against Yunho’s chest.

"How long?"

"For a semester. I'll be back for the Christmas," Yunho bites his lip.

"I’ll stay here anyway so you still can find me here at any time of the year. I’ll wait for you," San smiles. "Even forever."

Yunho drives away the strange impulse to kiss this boy on his forehead; instead of it he looks to the sky.

"Can I communicate with you somehow? Via flowers, I don’t know?"

"I don’t really think I can reach so far," San admits. He pauses for a moment and adds in a lower voice, "but there’s something we can try."

"What?"

"It’s too late and dark now. You should go home before your family loses you," San sits and Yunho lets him go with regret. "Come back tomorrow when you can and I’ll show you."

Despite Yunho’s parents' grumbling that he was always running away for the whole day he still escapes at the moment of collecting, picks up the bicycle from the garage, and rushes towards the forest. San greets him by a warm smile and takes gently his hand; they leave the bicycle lying in the thick grass which has managed to grow almost a meter in height over the summer. They go deep into the thicket and it's the first time Yunho is gone so far: he’s afraid of letting go San's hand and holds tightly his palm which is lifeless and lively at the same time. Yunho looks around, stumbles over the massive roots creeping along the ground like sleeping snakes, pushes past the hard and dissatisfied branches of bushes, and carefully treads on the trunks of fallen old trees lying over swamps and ditches like bridges.

"Do you know what does my name mean?" San asks suddenly.

"First time I thought it means the sun," Yunho avowes. "You’re so sunny, solar and kind."

"Well," San smiles shyly, "not exactly. My father wanted me to be as strong as a mountain, unbreakable and defiant to those who intend to harm me or my loved ones but at the same time to be able to shelter, to embrace, to protect those who are dear to me. That's why he chose this name for me."

"That’s really great," Yunho answers sincerely. San slows down and stops.

"But translating from Chinese it means «the grave»."

There isn’t no glade, no lawn, no special signs here: only a crooked, green, rotten plate with a barely readable inscription and a small plot of land sagged from water and heaviness. Yunho comes closer and carefully removes the moss from the plank.

_«Choi San_

_10.07. …. — ... 08. …._

_Rest in peace»._

"Were you buried here?" his voice sounds low.

"Long ago. There's not much left now except a couple of bones."

Yunho stands up and takes a step back to San clinging to his shoulder in a silent gesture of support.

"I’m sorry."

"It’s okay," San shakes his head. "The suffering is for living people and the pain is for dying ones. And I've been dead for a long time."

"What happened?" Yunho says hesitantly. San glances at his face.

"It was a difficult time. I was attacked and killed. My father and I have been going to this forest since I was a child so it makes sense that I was buried here."

San gets down on his knees and starts digging the soil with his hands. He’s not trying to go deep down — only removes the top layer of soil with half-rotted cones and branches, gets to the black, cold, wet clods; he picks up one of the largest that falls into his palm and gives it to Yunho. The latter takes the earth from San’s hands with such a trembling as if he was holding someone's heart.

"I saw you got a plant at home," San smiles brushing the ground from his palms. Yunho feel shy and looks away. "Mix this soil with the one where your flower grows on. Then if you take it with you I can hear you as if you’re still here."

"Can I hear you?"

"Sorry, no."

"It’s okay. Even so it’s enough," Yunho tenderly wraps the ground in a package that was found in his bag and puts it in like a priceless treasure. "It’s good to know I can be close to you."

"But be careful please, try not to throw it around," San asks. "It won’t make me feel bad or hurt but… Don’t."

"I swear."

Yunho’s mother with genuine bewilderment watches her son digging in the ground and mixing the soil for his flower and then completely coming up with how to transport the plant without damaging it. He tells all sorts of nonsense like it will remind him of home but — whatever the child does she doesn't mind as long as he doesn’t try to grow marijuana.

Yunho leaves the native city with a heavy heart but the thought San is still near to him warms his soul. He captures from his roommate some place on the windowsill for the plant; it blooms even better than before and silently watches the young man. Sometimes when Yunho stays alone in his room he speaks softly aloud as if to himself: he talks about the events of the day, his doubts and thoughts. He does it not so often — anyway it’s a really weird habit and if someone catches him they will definitely call a shrink. The autumn flies quickly and turns into the rather frosty, prickly winter; Yunho looks through the window and guesses how’s San doing now, is he cold, what is he feeling when the leaves of trees fall and the grasses wither. Yunho looks forward to the end of the period of exams and the beginning of the vacation so much he’s in a terrible hurry to go home but he can’t because of one failed exam so he has to stay for a while. His roommate passed all exams earlier so he leaves Yunho and goes home; Yunho’s girlfriend visits him almost every day and sits on the windosill swinging her legs.

"Is it yours?" she runs her fingers over the green leaves.

"Yes. Don’t bother it, please," Yunho asks. It’s absurdly but he doesn’t want to share San with her. San is only _his_ secret. She seems listening to him but after few minutes she takes the plant in hands to examine. Yunho doesn’t notice that, as he's thinking about the math tasks; he raises his head when someone tries to come into the room and there is an unpleasant sound and a frightened «oops».

Yunho stares at the broken pot and the black soil scattered on the floor, at the flower which spreads its leaves helplessly; it lies like an paralyzed or ill one, like an abandoned invalid, like a child which a careless mother has dropped. The plant is silent: without any drop of reproach or resentment, resigned to its fate and leaning its head against the cheap linoleum bending its petals and breaking its limbs.

"I told you not to touch it," Yunho growls and jumps up from his seat feverishly thinking what to transplant the flower into. San’s weak voice echoes in his head and he remembers his grave, such lonely and forgotten in the woods. Yunho shoves the girl aside, gets down on his knees, and starts to collect wet clods in the biggest cup he found.

"I’m sorry," she puts her hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off irritably. "Is this flower so important to you?" there is resentment in her voice.

"Yes," Yunho mutters.

"More than me?"

He raises his head looking up at her, at her frowny face, and at the provocation in her glance. Her eyes are beautiful but in comparison with San’s ones — just two fakes, muddy and dirty from the inside.

"Yes," broke from his lips.

For these words he gets a slap cheek and a loud clap of the door. To be honest he doesn’t care: it’s a little unpleasant but something more important is bothering him now. That same evening he buys a new pot, painstakingly replants the flower and tries to do everything so that the mute, submissive, trusting little friend doesn’t wither. A few days pass in languid, anxious expectation; at the end of the week the flower timidly raises its head and Yunho can exhale calmly.

He passes the last exam, immediately goes home and runs into the woods without really meeting and communicating with his family. The cold is relentless outside and his hands are frozen even in gloves; he’s afraid even to poke his nose out from under an immense scarf and Yunho whispers San’s name into the fleece warmed by his breath.

"I’m glad to see you again, Yunho," sounds from behind as usually; Yunho turns and hugs tightly his friend which still wears the sweater given to him. San is surprised at this such strong display of affection but he only presses himself closer and clumsily tries to cuddle him over a huge and thick jacket.

"Aren’t you cold?" Yunho worries. San smiles cordially and his eyes shine in the evening twilight.

"I told you before I don’t—"

"Here, take this," Yunho pulls off the scarf resolutely and wraps it around his friend's fragile neck trying to tighten it more but not too strong. "Are you better now?"

"It’s always better with you," San speaks quietly hiding his smile in the fluffy folds. They both walk through the wild a bit without going far because Yunho should go home soon; San confirms that he heard him via the flower and he was happy to know Yunho is alright. He appreciates Yunho didn’t forget about him.

"I’m sorry for that incident," Yunho sniffs. "I failed."

"Everything is okay," San pats him on the shoulder.

"She left me, by the way," he sneers. "She called me as a ‘fucking plantophile’? Does this word even exist? And she told to my friends we broke up because of _a plant_."

"I’m sorry. Does it hurt you?"

"No. I wasn’t even upset."

Yunho wants to get something San for Christmas but San only laughs in response: _there can’t be any Christmas or New Year in the woods, Yunho, I don’t need anything_. Nevertheless, after serving the prescribed hours with the family at the holiday table, the young man pours some wine into an empty water bottle, puts it with the cups in his backpack and takes it all to the forest. San only shakes his head and calls Yunho as an adventurer. In response Yunho names him as his sun and wishes him Merry Christmas when they clink with cups in the predawn gloom. San takes his hand again and leads to a tiny spring that stubbornly breaks through the ice; he advices to taste it and calls it as the water of life. It’s like the purity and the innocent; the cold and fresh crystals are scattered on Yunho’s tongue and breathe life into his body penetrating inside. San smiles at his words about the eternity youth: he doesn’t promise a hundred years but the love from the nature which is stored in the wellspring can save Yunho’s life once if he lets a chance to it.

Bright stars are reflected in forest spirit’s eyes and Yunho feels warmth from the wine; they sit on a fallen tree trunk and San makes little figures of snow. Yunho wants to keep each of them but they inevitably melt in his hands. _"The pluses of being dead,"_ laughs the lonely magician creating a small snow zoo. In a strange way the peaceful conversation turns into a fierce snowball fight: San deftly hides behind trees and branches and also uses his unique skill of dissolving in the air what makes most of the projectiles fly through without hitting him. Yunho suffers a defeat but doesn’t give up pushing through thorny shrubs and sinking knee-deep in snowdrifts; he catches the disoriented boy and falls him down into snow pressing his cheek against San’s sharp cheekbone and then he shakes off his clothes for a long time and worries that San can get cold. The latter rolls his eyes helplessly to these words and doesn't even try to object. Yunho leaves the scarf to him explaining that it makes him feel calmer and he goes home almost at dawn. The next day Yunho discovers that he has a cold. San reproaches him for his carelessness and almost rudely sends him home to lie and recover; Yunho pouts and excuses himself that there’s not much time left before his departure and he wants to spend as much time with San as possible.

"I’ll not go anywhere," San repeats patiently taking Yunho’s hand and stroking his wrist by the thumb. "A half a year doesn't mean much for me."

"But it’s the whole eternity," Yunho sighs and immediately sneezes.

"And I have an eternity ahead of me," San smiles. "I’ll wait for you, don’t worry."

His temperature rises, Yunho almost doesn’t move from weakness, doesn’t get out of bed and spends the rest of the holidays sadly and joylessly. The spring semester seems unbearably long but when the sun goes back bright green leaves creep timidly out of the buds and flowers open uncertainly it becomes lighter and happier on Yunho’s heart. Yunho literally counts the weeks and days until summer and also takes several hundred photos for San to show him later museums, exhibitions, beautiful landscapes and dozens of buds in macro photography. The flower cheers him up, waves leaves friendly when Yunho’s back from his classes, looks at the pages covered with figures and formulas and carefully protects the young man's sleep. Yunho suddenly buys a botany book and having never been interested in biology before he reads a multi-volume book on plants with curiosity and interest. He discovers a whole new world which has always been there and which Yunho hasn’t noticed; he begins to recognise the trees he meets on his way to the university and his notes are dotted with drawings of flowers. Someone offers him — as a joke — to become a tattoo artist but Yunho denies: he draws very badly but at the same time he’s happy to paint some spreading buds with ordinary ink the delicate hands of girls from his group who ask him. He laughs when he sees a wildflower tattoo on his ex's shoulder but he doesn't feel anything about it. On the shelf in his room along with math and physics books there are books on plants and especially flowers.

On the first day of summer when he comes back home it rains. The road is washed out covered by puddles and mud which sticks to sneakers and stains pants but Yunho purposefully makes his way forward and almost isn't scared when dexterous hands entangle him and the lifeless body is pressed to his back. San's hair is wet from the water and stick to his temples and neck, his clothes hang heavy but San's smile shines brighter than the sunlight and his eyes look clearer than the transparent drops falling from the sky. Yunho holds the umbrella above both of them despite the reminder San doesn't care about the rain; Yunho hugs him tightly and impulsively presses his lips against San's ice cold forehead.

He prints out a few dozen photos for him and brings them all giving for San's birthday because he remembered about the tenth of July. San is surprised, touched, moved; he keeps saying his birthday doesn't mean anything but for Yunho it does. They examine the pictures for a long time sitting in the midst of newly revived fields. San likes the photos a lot: he smiles looking through the glossy pictures, he recognises some places where he was unimaginably long ago — they have changed very much. He holds the photos to his chest where his heart was and promises to hide them on his grave — the only place in the whole world that belongs entirely to him. San gratefully leaves a soft kiss on Yunho's cheek; Yunho just cuddles him stronger.

He spends the entire summer outside with San and the sun warms lovingly and affectionately coloring the skin a dark shade and emphasizing the natural beauty of blooming life with a tan. San tells him about various insects: he lets beetles explore his hands, plays with cobwebs and spiders which are hanging from them; Yunho disentangles butterflies from his hair and examines the intricate patterns on their huge wings. He makes up stories about tiny inhabitants and San listens with complete delight to his simple stories about superheroes from ladybugs and ants, about scary and terribly sleepy snails which are similar to the average students of Yunho's university, about dragonflies which store untold riches, and about bumblebees who have learned the essence of existence and buzz buddhist prayers.

"And you know all of their names? All of the insects?" Yunho asks when San shows him another fat and potbellied bug. Yunho gives to it the role of a typical teenager from some ordinary comedy which is in love with a lovely and innocent butterfly with wings as blue as the sea.

"Do you mean the classification? No, I don't," San puts the beetle on the ground and makes sure that it crawls away unharmed. "Only people give names because only for them they mean something. And I just love them."

"They're lucky," Yunho smiles. "They're beloved by such sweet sun."

"If one of us is the sun it's you," San elbows him in the side. "And I am the moon in this case."

"The sun and the moon are far from each other," he shakes his head capturing the playful hands. Yunho throws his head back for a while and then falls on his back enjoying the lush greenery and blooming flowers. "If you're the sun so I am the sky. I'd like to be the sky."

"You already are," San laughs quietly watching him. "Wide and vast as it."

Exactly because of that after a couple of days Yunho comes with dyed blue hair. It looks strange, unusual, but original and funny. San is amazed and speechless: he just pulls at the paint-burned strands and runs his hand in blue hair. Yunho closes his eyes accepting this awkward affection and then offers to dye San’s hair too. San agrees easily and a week later when Yunho buys the needful stuff they spend a whole day painting individual strands green being in the field. Yunho brings a few liters of water but it’s not enough so they have to go deep in the woods to the stream to wash off the dye. Alongside this Yunho forces San to wash his hair finally and he discovers that San’s laughter sounds much better than the sound of even the fastest and clearest stream. They playfully pour water on each other and San climbs a tree as easily as if he has been doing this all his non-life. He climbs not so high but enough that a young gunner using water instead of shells can't reach him. Yunho wants to try too: they find an oak tree with huge spreading branches and San manages the process standing on the ground and advising where to put a particular foot. Yunho climbs almost to the top and admires the glade spread below him. From a height everything looks so small but so incredible: he sees shrubs, tangles of tree roots, lawns with flowers, San looking up at him and how the sun plays with an emerald green in his strands.

"It’s so beautiful here," Yunho louds looking into San’s shining eyes and smiling to him.

"I know. Please be careful."

"Don’t worry everything is al—"

His foot slips off a thin branch; Yunho tries to hold on to something but only hurts himself and rips the skin off the wrist. The world turns over, he hears San’s startled shout and feels a terrible pain belatedly spreading over bruises and abrasions. He closes his eyes and can't breathe after hitting his back hard against the branches. They say in moments like this your life flashes before your eyes: nothing like that. San remains in his thoughts and the memories associated with him: the most vivid, the most important ones. He expects he will break something or maybe even his neck but he’s deafened by a strange indescribable sound, like a dissatisfied groan or the creaking of something heavy. Everything abruptly stops.

After a few moments he realizes that he’s hanging upside down. He hesitantly opens first one eye then the other one and he’s afraid to move. Yunho notices frowning, almost transparent San who stands close to the oak trunk with the palm pressed against the thick bark. San doesn’t take his eyes — or their outlines — off him.

"If I would have a heart it would have been torn to pieces right now," he almost growls threateningly and his voice sounds as if from a distance.

"I would give mines to you," Yunho answers by trembling voice and tries to smile. The blood rushes to his temples; he decides to turn his head and finds that he’s suspended literally a meter above the ground: the only thing that saved the hapless climber from imminent death is that his leg is stuck between two tightly pressed branches as in a vice. It's impossible and Yunho looks at his friend in amazement.

"Was it you?" San nods impetuously scratching at the wood with his uneven nails nervously.

"I didn’t know you can do something like that. Thank you," Yunho breathes out and only now realizes how hard his heart is pounding. "I’m like the spiderman right now," he tries to joke but immediately remembers, "oh, you probably didn’t watch this movie."

"And what was there?" San seems to calm down: he gradually materializes back. Yunho finds it strange that the dead one can be afraid of something but after a moment he realizes: no, this doesn’t surprise him as well as other San’s emotions, or the intonations of his voice, or his gentle touches and incomparable warmth.

"Well, the most known scene from there is where the main character is hanging upside down and kissing with his girlfriend. I always thought that must be terribly uncomfortably," Yunho unsuccessfully tries to remove the t-shirt that has slid down to his face.

When he does manage to cope with the clothes and the relentless laws of physics he sees San’s face in front of him. San’s gaze is unreadable; he reaches for Yunho’s cheekbones and puts his trembling hands on them. San rises on tiptoe and presses his lips against Yunho’s ones. His lips are cold and seemingly wet, a little hard and not at all soft. Yunho just covers his eyes, shyly passes his tongue over San’s lower lip, along the edge of sharp teeth. San remains motionless, frozen, but after a while he pulls away still reluctantly.

"How is it?" asks he quietly. Yunho feels himself blushing but he doesn't know whether it's the situation, the question, or him hanging in the air.

"Not bad. But I'd rather do it being on the ground. Or better _lying_ on the ground. And also my head hurts." San smiles shortly and takes a step back.

"So get down."

Yunho pulls himself up with a soft groan (thanks to physical classes), grabs a broad branch and struggles to free his leg; he hangs for a moment on his hands — and jumps to the earth. He feels dizzy from the pressure drop and sudden change of position, or maybe from something else; San holds him by the shoulder, helps him to sit down on the grass, and looks anxiously into his face.

"How are you? Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I’m okay. Never better," Yunho smiles. San doesn’t believe in his words: purses his lips and frowns. Yunho raises his head and looks at the crown of an oak tree. He could die. And then what? He would have become a ghost like San? Or he would just die and that would have been the end of it? Was it nature itself what saved him or was it entirely San’s desert? Hundreds of questions swarm in an inflamed mind making difficult to focus and to calm the heartbeat.

He sighs heavy and thinks that he doesn't mind dying at all as long as it allows him to stay with this strange guy.

Yunho presses San to himself forcing him to get down on his knees, puts his arms around the thin waist and puts hands on San’s back. His vertebrae and shoulder blades rest against Yunho’s palms; San obediently clings closer and sticks his ice cold nose to his neck.

"What would have happened with me then?" Yunho asks pressing his cheek to San’s hair where the dark, precious emerald shines now.

"I don’t know," San answers in a barely audible whisper. "Everyone has his own way both in life and after death."

"Is there any way I can stay with you?"

"The eternity is a quite long thing, Yunho," San laughs shortly. Yunho doesn’t feel any air movement on his skin. He doesn’t care, _really_.

"It will be not so long with you than without you."

He tangles into San’s hair and kisses him thirstily, presses to lifeless lips sharing his breath: one for both of them. He leans back pulling San down with him and San gently holds the back of his head not allowing him to hit the massive roots. Curious blades of grass tickle Yunho’s neck, small flowers scatter over his cheeks, leaves and stems tangle in his hair and clothes. San presses him down to the ground a little harder, answers selflessly to the kiss accepting the life from his lips gratefully, allowing to give him the warmth. Yunho smiles into the kiss hugging San tighter and unconsciously drowning in him, in the flowers, in his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't describe my love to San I only hope you can feel it with me reading this work.  
> I'll be glad to any comments, feel free to talk!  
> Thanks for your attention~


End file.
